Knightly Advice
by harllett
Summary: Written for LANCELOTTRISTANBABY’s Valentines challenge. Gawain wishes to woo the beautiful Aria, but one afternoon in the tavern he makes the mistake of accepting advice from some of his fellow knights… [Oneshot] [GawainOC]


**Disclaimer** : I only own Aldan and Aria in this little fic.

**Rating** : K+

**Summary** : Written for LANCELOTTRISTANBABY's Valentines challenge. Gawain wishes to woo the beautiful Aria, but one afternoon in the tavern he makes the mistake of accepting advice from some of his fellow knights… One-shot GawainOC

**Author's Note** : As always, read and review! Hope you like my attempt at romance and humour!

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**Knightly Advice**

Life as a knight is unpredictable, difficult, dangerous and painful. At any moment we can be ripped from the security of our home at the fort on Hadrian's Wall, and sent out into wilds of Briton to fight for a cause that is not ours. Too often have we returned from a mission with one or two less of our number, our company reducing from thirty to twelve in the past ten years. However, despite the dangers of being sent on a mission, the other knights often get bored and restless at the fort, desperate for the thrill of adventure, the risk of death, the adrenaline that comes from fighting.

I, however, am different. I am at my happiest when at the fort, when I can sleep in a bed (hard as the mattress is), wander through the market place, drink in the tavern, gamble and throw daggers and pass the time in trivial yet enjoyable ways. And if I'm honest, there is one other wonderful thing about being at the fort.

The chance of seeing her.

I first noticed her two years past, when I realised that the waiflike girl who lived on one of the farms a mile or so from the fort, who came with her pa on market days to sell their vegetables and often ended up running barefoot through the fort causing mischief with her friends, had grown up.

I was walking through the market, scanning the stalls idly to see if there was anything of interest, when my eyes landed on her stall. Her pa was there, old Aldan, who has been supplying the fort with his produce for as long as I've been here. Standing next to him was his daughter, whose waiflike figure had developed curves, whose hair was no longer tumbling from a messy knot but was softly curling over her shoulders, whose green eyes were bright and sparkling.

I stared at her for a moment too long and her eyes met mine. I flushed as she smiled, embarrassed at being caught with my eyes glued to her, and quickly turned away, only to come to an almost immediate halt as I bumped into my brothers, Gareth and Gaheris. Gaheris smirked at me, that infuriating smirk that is always on his equally infuriating face. Infuriating due to its unblemished handsomeness.

"I see a wench has caught out Gawain's eye, eh Gareth?"

I didn't intend to speak, but couldn't help bursting out with "She is not a wench."

Gaheris' smirk deepened and I groaned inwardly. "What's the name of the lass, brother?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. I honestly had no idea, having paid little attention to the mischievous urchin scampering through the fort, streaked with dirt and more often that not littered with hay.

"I'll find out for ye, shall I Gawain?"

Before I could stop him the irritating brother of mine had sauntered off, and was soon talking to the girl, running a hand through his dark hair. Black-haired rather than blonde like myself and Gareth, his hair gleamed in the sunlight, whilst mine had the consistency and colour of mangled straw. No doubt the girl would fall for his charms as so many had before her.

I was about to turn away in defeat when Gaheris pointed at me. The girl looked over and smiled, and I flushed an even deeper red, before coming to my senses and quickly hurrying away, humiliated.

A few moments later I felt a heavy arm drape around my shoulders.

"Her name is Aria, brother," Gaheris drawled in my ear. "And pretty a thing as she is, she's too young for me. I'll let you have her, this time." His laughter rang in my ears as he strolled away.

As I said, that was two years ago, and despite Gaheris' words I have never _had her_. I have still barely spoken to her, and when I have I have fumbled over my words and stuttered and blushed, and generally made an utter fool of myself. I am, however, a glutton for punishment, and volunteer to collect the produce for the fort from the farm whenever I get the chance. Arthur always lets me, the knights smirking and elbowing each other, but mercifully their teasing is kept to a minimum. Whilst not as skilled as Tristan, I have an ability to disappear into the background and avoid attention.

Today it is market day once more and I loiter near her stall, pretending to be interested in baskets woven from reeds and twigs, stealing glances at her as she jokes with customers. She notices me looking and smiles, and again I blush, and again I turn and flee the scene, escaping to the safety of the tavern. I thump down onto a bench and grasp Galahad's tankard of ale, taking a deep swig as I ignore his protests. The other knights present – Gaheris, Gareth, Lancelot, Tristan and Bors – look at me in surprise. Whilst I enjoy a drink, on occasion getting so drunk I forget the events of an evening, I have never been a big drinker during the day, and it is yet to pass noon.

"What's up, lad?" Bors roars. I don't believe he realises how loudly he speaks.

I shrug and reach for his mug of ale as I drain Galahad's. Bors pulls it out of my reach and beckons to Vanora, who hurries over and places two mugs in front of me. I smile my thanks and take a deep gulp from one of them, wiping the froth from my upper lip with the back of my hand. "What?" I ask, as I notice all my fellow knights are staring at me.

"Why the drinking?" Lancelot enquires.

I shrug and take another swig of ale.

"I know!" Gaheris claims, suddenly, his eyes sparkling. "It's market day! I take it you haven't managed to woo your lady love yet?"

"Shut up," I mutter.

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"Because every time she looks at me I go as red as a bloody tomato!" I explode. "If I try to talk to her I'll just stutter like a fool."

"Gawain, do you really like this girl?" Gareth asks softly, far more gentle in his approach than Gaheris.

"Yes."

"Then work up the balls to go and talk to her, lad!" Bors exclaims. Gareth glares at him and he quietens down.

"Then take my advice," my brother continues. "Just go and talk to her and be yourself. If what you say is true, and she keeps looking at you, she must be interested in you."

"I can't be myself, I'm too nervous," I mutter.

"I know what you can do!" Galahad pipes up, happy now he has another mug of ale in front of him. "Read her a poem! That way, you already know what you're going to say, and you have to stick to it."

"You know, that could work," Gaheris says slowly.

I snort. Like I'm going to take the pup's advise. "I'll stick to my ale," I grumble.

"The lad must be no good with words!" Bors chuckles. "I guess we'll have to do the hard work for him, eh Lance?"

"Great idea," Lancelot smirks.

"VANORA!" Bors bellows. Once he has her attention he requests paper and a pencil, and Vanora delivers it, pausing at our table only long enough to snap at Bors that she is not his servant and to slap Lancelot as he tries to grasp her bottom.

Lancelot takes the pencil and taps it thoughtfully against his chin. "How do we start?"

Gaheris leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist. His eyes are half-closed in concentration. "Aria, with eyes so fair…" he begins as Lancelot scribbles quickly.

"Skin so pale, and such beautiful hair," Galahad contributes proudly.

"When I speak to you, it becomes such a farce," Lancelot continues.

"But it's only because you 'ave such a nice arse!" Bors concludes, and bellows with laughter. The knights at the table rock with mirth, even Tristan looking amused, as I glare at each of them in turn.

Lancelot finally gets himself under control and considers his paper. "How about this?" He stands and takes a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver one of Arthur's famously long speeches. "Aria, with eyes so fair, Skin so pale and such beautiful hair, I think you are completely and utterly divine, And all I desire is to make you mine."

"Not bad," Gaheris concedes. Lancelot quickly writes down the last two lines and hands me the paper.

"Go charm her," he smirks.

I look at Gareth and he shrugs, but the others are all smiling their encouragement. I nod and stand, leaving the tavern to the sound of their bellowing laughter. I choose to ignore it.

I hurry towards Aria's stall, noting with relief that her father isn't there. At least there is one less person for me to make a fool out of myself in front of. She smiles her greeting at me but I don't dare speak – as Galahad suggested, I am going to stick entirely to the poem, to the words already prepared for me.

"Aria, with eyes so fair," I begin, blurring the words in my haste for this public humiliation to end. "Skin so pale and such beautiful hair." Her brow furrows in confusion and I force my eyes away from her, fighting my instinct to turn and run. "I think you are completely and utterly fine – dine- I mean, divine," I falter, "And all I desire istomakeyoumine." I rush through the last words, crumpling the paper in my fist, then turn and flee to the security of the tavern.

I throw myself down on the bench, clutching my head in despair.

"It didn't work?" Lancelot asks.

"I didn't stay to find out," I replied. "I made a total idiot out of myself! All the people, they were laughing, and she looked so confused…"

The knights are trying not to laugh, I can tell, but I ignore the humour in their eyes, too absorbed in the horror of what has just transpired.

"I guess we need another plan," Bors comments. "How 'bout you, Tristan? Any words of wisdom for the lovestruck lad?"

The scout, who I still don't understand even after ten years with him, looks up from the apple he is slicing with a dagger. "I have no advice as I have no need to woo women. They fall at my feet with no encouragement."

With that surprising statement he stands and exits the tavern, leaving me and the other knights staring after him.

"Always was weird, that one," Bors declares. "I'm tryin' to think o' something you can try." He is silent for a moment, brow creased in concentration. Finally enlightenment dawns and once more he bellows for Vanora.

The red-headed woman returns to our table, fury written across her face.

"What d'you want now, ya great hairy brute?"

Bors pulls her down onto his lap and nuzzles her neck. "What did I do to woo you, my love? We're givin' young Gawain some advice."

"You couldn't advise a man on how t'woo a woman if your life depended on it, ye great oaf," she replied. "You're lucky you've got me, or you'd be bloody celibate for the rest of your life."

The knights roar with laughter at Bors' expression, but he quickly regains his composure. "It's lucky I got you then ain't it, my little flower?"

Despite herself, Vanora softens, and plants a kiss atop his head. "You really want help in wooing a lady, Gawain?" she asks me. I shrug. Frankly, I'm sick of the whole situation already. "You need t'be chivalrous and charming. I know Bors here ain't, but I've always been partial to the odd ones. But trust me, any man who offers t'carry a ladies basket or help them with their cloak is rare 'nd precious."

I consider her words, idly sipping at my second mug of ale. Her advice seems decent, and I decide that the plan is far more foolproof than the sodding poetry.

The other knights raise their eyebrows as I stand again, take a gulp of ale, and leave the tavern for the second time.

My heart is racing with nerves, but it stops as I see that Aria is no longer at the stall. What to do now? I quickly scan the area, and with relief I find her. She is at the cart her and her father use to transport their goods, struggling to lift a crate of potatoes. It couldn't be more perfect!

In a few strides I am at her side, reaching for the crate. "Let me take that," I suggest, voice cracking.

"Thank you, sir." She smiles at me gratefully and my heart flutters.

I lift the crate, cursing slightly – it is far heavier than I expected. I stagger backwards, trying to regain my balance with the heavy object in my arms, and she places a hand on my back to support me. At her touch I jolt forwards, the crate tipping in my arms and spilling the top couple of potatoes.

"S – sorry," I stammer awkwardly.

"No harm done," Aria smiles, scooping them up from the ground.

I carry the crate towards the stall. Bulky as it is, I cannot see the ground upon which I'm walking, and my foot catches on something. I lurch forwards and to my utmost horror the crate topples out of my grasp and crashes to the floor. I drop to my knees and frantically try to gather the fallen potatoes, which are rolling every which way. Aria is on her knees next to me, helping my pick up the vegetables. She stills my frantic hands with hers and assures me again that no harm is done, but I know there is – not to the potatoes, but to my pride, and to my chances with her.

Once all the loathsome potatoes have been placed on the stall I mumble my final apologies and once again take off for the sanctuary of the tavern.

"Here." Galahad hands me a mug of ale as a sink down onto the bench. "It went wrong again?"

"Yes. Horribly, desperately, unbearably wrong."

"Right, it's time to take MY advice," Lancelot decides, leaning forward across the table, dark eyes glittering. "Take her flowers, no woman can resist flowers."

"Yes!" Gaheris crows triumphantly. "Wonderful idea." He thumps the table as if to emphasise his words.

"Flowers?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I'll take her flowers." I stand and drain my mug of ale for courage, then stride proudly from the tavern, my dramatic exit only slightly ruined when I stumble over a stray stool.

I go to the nearest stall I see that is selling flowers and purchase a bunch of roses, spending almost all the weeks wages, yet knowing it is worth it if it works. I nervously approach Aria, her hair gleaming in the sunlight, her freckled face more beautiful than ever. As I reach her I clear my throat and she looks up, gracing me with a smile. "Back again?" she asks, her voice a musical lilt.

"For you," I manage to say, though my throat is as parched as the farmland during a drought. I hold out the roses and her face lights up with joy, then slowly changes to a look of quizzical confusion.

"They're beautiful, sir, but – why?"

"Because…because…" _Dammit_. Wordlessly, I thrust them towards her. She squints at me, still confused, but smiles and accepts them.

"They really are beauti - ow!" She gasps in pain and lifts one hand. The pale skin is already stained by red droplets of blood oozing from a finger that has been pierced by a thorn.

"Damn!" I curse, and quickly apologise, pulling my handkerchief from my pocket. I go to press it against her wound then stop as I realise the linen is already stained with blood, from when I tended Galahad's lip after he got into a bar fight a few nights ago. The lad really can't hold his ale. I quickly shove the handkerchief back into my pocket, fingers fumbling, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I search desperately for something else, even as she protests that she is fine, it is just a scratch. Finally I resort to grabbing the edge of the cloth that covers the table and wiping her finger. I pull slightly too hard and the cloth is yanked towards me. The vegetables that are sitting on it become dislodged, and ever so slowly, a pile of carrots begin to tumble to the floor. Eyes widening in horror I try to catch them, try to stem the flow, but it is too late. Closing my eyes so I don't have to see her face I back away and all but run back to the tavern, a carrot still clenched in my fist.

I collapse onto the bench, sprawling over the table, head hidden in my arms.

"What did you do wrong this time?" Gaheris sighs.

Lancelot reaches across the table and takes the carrot from my grasp. "A token of her love?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I caused her to bleed by buying her roses, then pulled the cloth on the stall and sent all her goods flying to the floor," I mutter, raising my head. There is a moment of silence before Bors' guffaw sets them all off again. I groan and hide my face in despair once more.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Gareth stops the laughter at last. He lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Are you ready to take my advice now, Gawain? Just be yourself, let her get to know you, and she'll love you."

"But she already thinks she knows me – as a stammering, bumbling, clumsy fool!"

"Then prove her wrong."

Lancelot gives a shrug. "It could work. It's worth a try at least. You've already lost your pride, your dignity…what else have you got to lose?"

"Thanks, Lancelot." I shoot him as withering a glare as I can muster. "That helps."

"Honestly, Gawain, try it. Trust me." Gareth smiles reassuringly at me and with a groan I rise from the table and drag myself from the tavern one last time.

I walk up to the stall and she looks at me apprehensively. Summoning every last bit of courage I walk up to her, grasp her hands, and take a deep breath.

"My lady, my name is Gawain, and I am a Sarmatian knight. I know I have caused nothing but trouble for you today, and for that I apologise, but I was trying to – to woo you. My fellow knights knew I thought you were – I think you are – beautiful, so they've been giving me advice about how to charm you. But it all went horribly wrong – as you know – and now I just look like a fool. At least I know never to trust anything those bloody arses say again – sorry, my lady. I just, I think you're really, really nice, and I wanted to get to know you better, but I suppose I've ruined any chance of that today. So I won't bother you again."

I let go of her hands and start to back away, a now familiar action, but she quickly takes hold of my hands again and pulls me towards her.

"You want to know a secret?" She leans closer to me. "I think you're really, really nice too. And incredibly cute when you blush."

With that, she leans even closer, and her lips meet mine.

Thank the gods for Gareth and his advice.


End file.
